Royal
by InnerDecayedPrincess
Summary: Martin wishes he had his old life back. A life without the war with Mehrunes Dagon's minions, a life without a heroic woman who risk her life for him. A life without regrets.


In his quarters, Martin silently cried. All of this. It was simply too much.

Almost every week, Martin had to watch as the Hero of Kvatch, the love of his life slip away from his fingers. It was everyday that Martin prayed. He prayed and prayed. Each time he sent the Hero of Kvatch off on a mission, he worried that she will never come back. His mind would constantly conjure up images of her neck being split by Mythic Dawn agents, and worse, even Mankar Camoran himself.

Mankar Camoran. He was also one of Martin's worries. No doubt the High Elf was sitting on his throne in Paradise, seething about how they got closer and closer to him.

It was around ten at night. Masser and Secunda were both full. Even from his chambers, Martin could hear the echo of the mountains. He remembers nights at his fa- Lucas's farm. Lucas, the man he had knew as a father, with a lithe build and red hair. He would remember how Lucas always started out the day with hotcakes with Tiger Lilly nectar dripping down the edges. Martin remembers how Lucas use to to teach him about farming, what plants to plant in which season.

_Pray to Kynareth_, Lucas would say, _She is the goddess of Nature. The goddess of the __Elements, and winds. If anyone would protect our crops, she would. She is Aedra. Aedra are good. Look at me, Martin.__  
_

Martin did.

_Aedra are good. Always seek guidance from them._

When the sun went down, Martin ate his dinner, which was usually vegetables and lamb, and when the watch dog, Jalie, was tied to the post of the fence that surrounded the farm, Martin would climb in bed with his father standing over him. They would say a prayer to Kynareth.

_"Come to me, Kynareth, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in terror, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures."_

Lucas said that if he prayed that prayer every night, Kynareth would grant him a whole knew look on the world, that instead of seeing bad, Martin would learn to seek out the good.

After the prayer, Lucas would tuck the covers up to Martin's chin, kiss his temple, and turn off the lights. Martin would dream of days picking apples with Lucas, eating grapes the size of Lucas's thumb. That was when Martin was eight.

When he got older, maybe fifteen or sixteen, he and his friends began to study other sources of magic. Magic that, to Martin, seemed to out rule any sort of other magic. Martin deeply regrets his decision. He remembers Allejal, the Breton who was one of Martin's friends. Of course, Allejal's face would never escape him. He always wore black robes, his green eyes always too bright, and he had a lean figure. He could also remember how they met.

It was on a sunny day, and Martin was plowing dirt. Sweat dripped down his face. He was tempted to walk about one mile just to go splash his face in the little pond that lay over the grassy fields and found in the parts of the forest. But Lucas had told him to plow the dirt.

"And after you're done, I'll give you a little treat." Lucas said with a wink.

Martin hurriedly grabbed a plow and went to work. If he liked anything, it was the surprises that Lucas always had.

The sky overhead was cloudless with only the sun shinning. There were no cool breezes.

After Martin was finished, he grabbed his shirt that he had taken off due to the heat. He was about to walk into the house to see his surprise when he heard the sound of a wagon moving across the cobblestone road.

Usually Martin would see all kinds of merchants traveling this road. Each time, he would go to the fence and wave at them, and they too would wave back. Some merchants would even stop, hop out of their wagons, and speak to Martin about buying some of his crops. Martin would say to hold on, then he'll run to his father saying they had a customer, and Lucas would always get that tired smile, and then the next day, Martin would be snacking on an expensive treat like beef.

But one look at the man, and Martin knew this was no merchant. Not with the black robe, and the fact that the only thing this man carried in his wagon was another person.

Must be a mage, Martin thought. But as he looked closer, he began to think of them as necromancers.

Martin absolutely hated necromancers. The process of bringing a dead body back to life was unnatural. The bodies would always look...controlled. Instead of having the color eyes the person might have had when they were living, the eyes were now glassy and black. When you killed them, their bodies would shrivel to dust like vampires, another undead Martin did not like.

In fact, when he told Allejal all of this, he laughed and said, "Maybe you should worship Meridia."

But Martin still ran to the fence and waved at the travelers. The one riding the horse with the black robe waved, but the one in the wagon, also wearing black robes did not. Instead, he said something to the man on the horse. The man on the horse pulled the reins and the horse stopped. The man on the horse turned and looked at the man in the wagon and gave him a hateful stare, then he said something to him. The man in the wagon nodded and jumped out.

He began walking toward Martin, and immediately, he got suspicious. These weren't merchants.

Maybe they are going to kill me then bring me back to life as a experiment, Martin thought. The thought terrified him, but still, he smiled to the man- who was obviously a Bosmer- and said, "Hello there. Anything you need?"

The Bosmer glared at him through beautiful grass green eyes.

"Yes,_ I_ need something. My friend and I are in a hurry and we've been traveling for days. See, we are going to the city of Cheydinhal. All the way from Anvil. We thought we could get there quickly, but along the way we have had to stop for creatures, bandits, and the elements. Plus, we don't travel through the night. We stop at night to rest. What I am saying is, we didn't pack any food. Can I maybe buy some crops from you? Apples, oranges, rice, and maybe some bread and cheese?"

Martin stared at the Bosmer, wondering why they were going to Cheydinhal.

Martin nodded. "Sure. I'll get my father." Martin was about to walk away when the Bosmer held up a hand. "I'll talk to him. Is he in that house?" The Bosmer asked, pointing to the little stone house Martin grew up in.

Martin had never before felt ashamed of his house, but the Bosmer made him feel lesser.

"Yes," Martin said looking down. And he kept looking down, even when the Bosmer was gone, and there were another pair of feet in front of his. Martin looked up to see bright green eyes, black hair, and a devious smile.

"What's your name?" The Breton asked.

"Martin, sir."

The Breton frowned. "Don't 'sir' me, I ain't that old. How old are you?"

"I'm only sixteen."

"Ah," The Breton said, "you're a young one, Martin. Your eyes are _so_ blue. Why are they that blue?"

Martin shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe my mother had them."

Martin tried not to think about his mother, but sometimes those kind of questions popped into his mind. There was once a time that Martin wondered where he got his deep, blue eyes from, and he always thought of his mother. He wondered why Lucas fell in love with her, what mother liked, what kind of perfume she wore. Martin would always picture his mother looking like him with brown hair, blue eyes, and tan skin that all Imperials seemed to have.

"Damn, you look like an Imperial," The man said. "All you Imperials are handsome, and have that tan skin."

Martin shoved his hands into his pockets. "And you Bretons have pale skin like the Nords."

The man laughed. "Nords are different from Bretons. Our race is intelligent." Another laugh. "Name's Allejal, by the way. I'm nineteen." Allejal held out his hand, and Martin shook it.

"What is taking that Tree Hugger so long?" Allejal asked.

"My father tends to talk a lot." Allejal raised an eyebrow.

"Still living with your father? You need to get out, explore the world."

Suddenly, Martin's eye twitched. He had heard this talk so many times. Not with his father, but with other people. Other people who was all in their business.

"I don't need to do anything." Martin spat. "I am just as happy living with my father, as you are happy traveling with no apparent reason."

Allejal raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine by me...but, when I was sixteen my father couldn't wait for me to get out the house. See, he didn't like my dreams and ambitions. He didn't like that I was smarter than him. The minute he found out I was doing what he didn't want me to do, he kicked me out."

Another devious smile crept its way upon Allejal's face. "But that's okay," he said, "because I sneaked my way back into the house and pissed in his beer."

Fits of laughter burst from both of the men, though as Martin laughed, he knew he couldn't even imagine doing that to Lucas.

As the laughter died down, Martin asked, "So what do you do that makes your father so angry?"

It is as if all the energy left Martin and the only thing he could feel was fear. He wanted to run screaming. But he was frozen by Allejal's eyes.

They seemed to say, _Run. I dare you._

Then the spell wore off and Martin was left in shock.

"Magic." Allejal said.

"Excuse me?"

"You asked what I do that makes my father so angry. I practice magic. _All_ forms of magic." The tone that Allejal used made Martin suggest that Allejal was waiting for Martin to judge him or something. Now knowing that this guy was a mage, Martin thought that that wouldn't be the best idea.

Allejal stepped closer.

"How did it feel? To succumb to my power? How did it feel to be tricked by a simple illusion? Me..making you want to tremble in fear..."

Before Martin could answer, he was pushed to the ground.

"Alright, come on!" The Bosmer yelled.

Martin spat up grass and looked into Allejal's eyes.

"Very well. So...Martin. If you want a taste of what I have to offer...come find me in Anvil. I will be there for one month. After that, I'm off."

* * *

See, what happened in this story is that when I played Oblivion, I kinda realized how Martin didn't want to seem to be...a royal. Then, of course, the song came to mind.

See, when Royals just came out, I listened to it all the time. It was Lorde. I lover her songs. But then...IT GOT TOO MAINSTREAM!

I seriously don't know what is up with me. What is wrong with me?

I don't know why, but I hate Mainstream stuff. Like, If a song is too mainstream then I won't listen too it. And it could be a pretty damn good song. I don't know. I don't buy certain hair products cause their too mainstream. What is wrong with me?

Updates on this story...when ever I feel like it. Don't worry...everything will be just like Whole Wheat Bread. WHICH IS SOOOOOOO AWFUL! So no, everything will be White Bread. Or Honey Wheat Bread, if you like that in between taste. White bread is too mainstream. I like Honey Wheat

Reviews are appreciated, but what is MORE appreciated is a follow or favorite.


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